Easter baptisms were almost over and I was beginning feel the chill. Then I heard my name being called. It was coming from the vicinity of our nationally recognized photographer,
Kassi White, who was one of those furiously busy Canon/Nikon “recorders of God’s miracles on Easter.”
“Hey, Bruce” the soft, well educated voice lassoed my attention; it was my friend
Charles. I turned to see my agnostic-believer friend (
Thanks Charles for accepting this label from me) reaching out his hand. My wet, soon to be slightly water-logged, hand grasp his.
“I’ve got to go.” Polite smile. “You the man!” His genuine smile won out.
“Are you going to get baptized before you leave?” I matched and raised the bet. Life is a high stakes game (THE Game!).
“Nice try, but not this time. I’ll see you later.” I was again baptising yet another miracle-touched person.
I had eaten breakfast in Beaverton with my friend
Charles last week. He was openly skeptical about our Rose Garden venture. He felt the cost to be to high. I begged him to bring his family, if only for Laura and me. (I used the “good friends” guilt trip). Imagine my surprise when
Charles called Sunday, about 9 a.m., to tell me they were on their way.
I called him after he emailed me with his “story.” I asked if I could post his thoughts (below) and it was then that he said “You money was well spent!” He is a very educated man, with far too many early years of religious facts and theology crowding out more important stories and experience of Jesus as a friend. He is an honest seeker, often not even knowing it (see the last half of Acts 17). His family is wonderful, and I so enjoy hanging out with him. We ended our phone call, I was in Portland at the time, with me reminding him that I still wanted him to experience a “very non-religious” Jesus in his own life. I want
Charles’ life, his family’s life, to be transformed by the personal invasion of my friend Jesus. Charles is the reason why I will burn out, give out, be used up, and poured out . . . FOR JESUS. If one more person see, falls in love with, and is transformed by Jesus, it’s worth everything I could possibly give.
Here’s the greater part of Charles' letter. After reading it – pause for a moment and hear the name of the person the Spirit is whispering to you – “I died for that girl, than man, that person!” We do love, BECAUSE He 1st loved us (I John 4:19).
"Wow, what a production! Even by my cynical standards I was quite impressed. Yesterday's entire program, from the donuts in the parking lot (nice touch, I had several) to the blue shirted ushers, kid bags, and slick booklets was exceptional. All in all it was a most amazing bit of confidence and showmanship for a flock that 10 years ago didn't exist and whose main branch still meets in what would pass for most other mainline church's fellowship hall. Very impressive indeed.
I sat for a long while watching you and the others Work the Water. Much as I did the first time I saw it at Brush Prairie my initial reaction was to shake my head in disquiet. Where were the baptismal classes of my youth? The robes? The little washrag that you put over their face before they sink under the waves? Who wants to walk home in wet clothes? As I watched the seemingly never-ending line of eager acolytes streaming down the aisle next to me I was also put off by the seemingly spur of the moment emotionalism of it all. About that time a big impeccably dressed black guy moved past my seat on his way to the pool. My first though was that SURELY he would at least take off his silk tie when his time came.
But as I continued to watch I began to see that people who were awaiting their watery date with destiny didn't seem like wide eyed fanatics caught up in the frenzy of the moment. They were not at all like the many kids at the end of a church school’s Week of Prayers, who were deified by Friday and disillusioned by Monday. No, most of these folk appeared to be simply following through on a decision calmly reached and well considered. I kept my attention on the tall black guy and sure enough, when he climbed the ladder down into what I'm sure must have been the frigid pool he had removed only his shoes and socks. Guess he had decided to make the ultimate commitment to embrace the moment and let a Higher Power sort out the future. For both his life and his silk tie. I had to admire that sort of belief, even as I at the same time rejected it –envy that leads to resentment. These days my heart is so hardened against religion that it makes Pharaoh's seem as soft as warm butter.
My wife and kids drove off for another appointment, so I walked down to the station and caught the Max for home. Sitting right across from me were two girl who appeared to be freshmen or sophomores in high school. They were in full-on punk rock goddess mode. The requisite ripped jeans, raccoon make-up, piercings, and matching Rancid t-shirts. Interestingly enough as I sat down they were in the midst of a very bitter screed about religion. How they hated having it forced down their throats by society and how much they would love to take a Bible to school and rip it's pages out to freak out their teachers and classmates. Ouch, these were some truly pissed off young hellions, although how much was true and how much was for show no one knows: I’m guessing about 50/50 in the teenage angst vs. adult-button-pushing game. But as we pulled up in front of Saturday Market, it finally dawned on me what they were so put out about. Why did they seem to hate religion so much? Apparently they were gleefully contemplating biblical desecration, or worse, because they were torqued off that... wait for it... ALL THE STORES AND MALLS WERE CLOSED FOR EASTER and they had no place to hang out and show off the badass look they had obviously worked so hard to attain and cultivate. I almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of that chain of thought. But I quickly caught myself, they might have plucked a few of those big safety pins off their artfully torn clothes and inflicted some very nasty wounds all over my exposed flesh. Sometimes discretion is the better part of valor. So I just smiled in bemusement as they leapt out the door and into their waiting audience. The final irony? The last words out of their mouths when the doors opened were, in unison, "Thank God that this place is open". Thank God? C'mon, stay in character, shouldn't you be praising Beelzebub?...
I thought about it the rest of the way home. How foolish and misplaced their disgust with, if not outright hatred of, religion seemed. How short sighted and shallow their childish words had sounded to me. Of course it didn't take very many minutes of musing before I had to break into a big smile. Aside from the Rockport shoes, Dockers slacks, and Haggar shirt I didn't look or sound much different than those ratty appearing punkettes (although I will always be more of an Aerosmith kind of guy). My goofy gripe with God jerking my chain about "The Plan", or the lack of one, makes about as much sense as their anger with the Big Man for not rising on a Wednesday and shutting down the malls on a day when they would be in school anyway. Not that accepting the absurdity of a position makes it any less real and troubling; either to me or those young Rancid fans.
I wonder what the first thought of that nattily attired black man and those raggedy dressed girls was this morning when they opened their eyes and faced the first day after an Easter they had briefly and unknowingly shared within blocks of each other? How could three people be so close in proximity, yet so far apart in perception? Hey wait, I suppose the very same way I could, can, and do –daily."
“Eternal life is NOT* a gift from God; eternal life IS* the gift of God.” – Oswald Chambers (
Old British chap)
Tomorrow - the "over the edge" extra that Charles saw in the parking lot before entering the Rose Garden - it's really cool (send this blog to a friend. Pray for Portland!)
*emphasis added
